


Bleeding Hearts and Bloodied Hands

by Ursa_Tattoo



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blood, Gen, Heavy Injury, Hurt/Comfort, I dont know what tags to add, Tord Redemption, Tord feels like shit, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-06-03 07:17:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6601822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ursa_Tattoo/pseuds/Ursa_Tattoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The explosion changed a lot of things, maybe for the better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Atonement

**Author's Note:**

> This is gonna be a fucking ride, kiddos

Tord had been very quiet since the robot blew up.  
  
“I told you not to.” Paul said quietly, bandaging Tord’s arm. Tord was quiet for a moment, his gaze never leaving the red robot arm in his hand.  
  
“Yeah, I know.” Tord replied at the same low volume.  
  
“…So, what’s next?” Patryk asked, leaning on the car.  
  
“I’m… I don’t know.” Tord’s gaze never shifted. “I need to think.”  
  
“We understand.” Paul responded, his voice sympathetic. Tord recoiled a little, shifting away from Paul while still letting him treat his wounds.  
  
Paul wrapped the final part of the bandage on Tord’s arm.  
  
“You wanna go back to the base?” Paul asked. Tord quietly shook his head.  
  
“You two go on without me. I need some time alone.” Paul nodded in response, motioning for Patryk to start up the car.  
  
“You take all the time you need, Tord.” Paul soothed. Now it was Patryk’s turn to motion, waving for Paul to come along as he started the car. Paul stood and entered the passenger side of the car, sparing one final glance at Tord, who continued to sit and stare at nothing.  
  
Tord heard them drive away, but it didn’t really register. He stared off the cliff, down at the rubble of what used to be his home. He could see in the distance some coloured specks walking away from the rubble. His former friends.  
  
The entire neighbourhood was littered with debris, most of it the shining red metal of his robot, though some of it was the brick and plaster of the two houses he’d blown up. He stared back at the broken metal arm in his lap, the metal glittering in the evening sun.  
  
He genuinely hadn’t meant to cause all the harm he did, not here, not like this. His intentions had been threefold: see his friends, get his stuff, leave to conquer the world. Simple goals, or at least he had thought so.  
  
The ambition… had gotten out of hand, if he was going to be totally honest. He’d been planning global domination for ages, but the only hitch had been his friends.  
  
Friends. He’d truly messed up there, hadn’t he? He had told Edd that he didn’t need friends, but that was a total lie. He’d been blinded by ambition and said things he didn’t mean, simple as that.  
  
Paul really had warned him. He’d told him not to do anything stupid, back when Tord had called Edd to say he was returning.  
  
“I’ll always support you, but the robot is a bad idea and retrieving the giant robot conveniently located under the home of your friends is a bad idea.” Paul had stated bluntly. Tord had scoffed.  
  
“Please, I know what I’m doing. I’ll be in and out before you know it.” He had said.  
  
Yeah, that had gone downhill almost immediately. Tom had been immediately suspicious—and Tord couldn’t really blame him, they’d never gotten along too well and it had been eight years since they last spoke—so Tord had tried to get him to back off, which had been a rousing success. Tom had left, the others were distracted, everything was proceeding according to plan.  
  
But he’d gotten sloppy. He’d crept away during the film, desperate to be complete again and fulfil his dreams. Of course they had noticed, they had cared about him.  
  
And he’d punched Matt in a fit of rage. For someone capable of building giant mechas, he was a real dumbass.  
  
He really shouldn’t have tried to get away when they went shopping. Matt may have been dumb enough to not heavily question his actions, but Edd was smarter, and probably would’ve approached him if things had gone differently.  
  
But they hadn’t. Tom had approached him with the wanted poster, he had gotten his hat and his robot, and had destroyed his own house as well as the one next door.  
  
And he’d nearly been chopped in half by a harpoon for his crimes, instead receiving a ruined arm and scarred face.  
  
“The harpoon should’ve killed me.” He muttered darkly.  
  
“Maybe, but I don’t know you well enough to say.” A voice with a South London accent rang out behind him, and he swivelled around as quickly as he could without causing further damage.  
  
A translucent blue man floated there, his expression concerned and a bit surprised. A section of his see through polo was darker than the rest, seemingly stained.  
  
“Who the fuck are you and how did you find me?” Tord asked cautiously, eyeing the spirit with concern.  
  
“My name’s Jon.” He floated next to Tord, seeming to sit down. “I used to live down there.” Jon pointed to the smouldering wreckage of the neighbours’ house, and Tord’s eyes widened.  
  
“You… Did I…?” Tord couldn’t spit out the words. He’d killed before and had plenty of blood on his hands, but it hadn’t ever been innocent before, nor had it ever felt so personal. Jon nodded.  
  
“Yep. The shrapnel from the neighbours’ house exploding killed me.” Jon stated flatly, as if the fact had no emotional significance.  
  
“I’m sorry.” Tord said quietly. “I didn’t…” He trailed off, unsure of how to continue. He didn’t know? He didn’t mean to do it? As if that was at all helpful.  
  
“I should be furious with you.” Jon said quietly. “I know I should, but I just can’t bring myself to be.”  
  
“…Why?” Tord asked, just as quietly.  
  
“You remind me of a friend.” Jon said with a sad smile. “He’s done a lot wrong, to me and Edd and everyone. But I forgave him a long time ago, and I’m sure that Edd and the others will forgive you, too.” Jon’s sad smile turned into a grimace. “Too bad he’ll never know I forgave him.”  
  
“You’re a ghost, can’t you just go tell him that?” Tord asked, ignoring Jon’s statement about how Edd would forgive him. Whatever Jon’s friend had done, Tord had undoubtedly done worse, and Edd wasn’t all forgiving.  
  
Jon shook his head. “I think you’re the only one who can see me. I might be haunting you now?” Jon shrugged. “I’m going to keep trying to reach Eduardo and the others, though.”  
  
“…I really am sorry, Jon.” Tord said quietly.  
  
“Yeah, I know. I forgave you for that already.” Jon said with a smile, rubbing comforting circles on Tord’s back as they stared out at the wreckage below.  
  
“I don’t deserve it.” Tord said, allowing Jon to try and soothe him without protest.  
  
“Maybe. But that doesn’t mean I don’t forgive you.”  
  
-:-::-:-  
  
“Hey Boss! Are you, uh, okay?” Patryk asked as Tord entered the repurposed military base.  
  
“As okay as I can be, soldier, considering the current state of my arm.” Tord said gruffly. “What did you manage to salvage from the wreckage?”  
  
Patryk looked down at his clipboard. “Inventory isn’t complete yet, but it’s mostly scrap metal. A few metal arms are intact, but that’s about it.”  
  
Tord nodded. “As I expected. Where’s Paul?”  
  
“In his quarters, I think. Are you sure you’re okay?” Patryk asked, concern clear on his face.  
  
“I told you, I’m fine. Carry on with inventory.” Tord marched down the hall, utterly detached from what had happened only a few hours prior. He was still a communist dictator, he couldn’t afford to stop now just because of a plan that had failed. He needed to keep moving.  
  
“Vorpahl?” Tord called as he entered Paul’s living area. Paul looked up from his phone, placing it face down on the table beside him when he saw Tord enter.  
  
“Yes, sir?” Paul asked. “Are you alright?”  
  
Tord nodded. “How good are you with robotics?”  
  
“Not the best. Patryk would be a better choice for anything regarding robotics.” Paul said, his voice free of emotion or inflection.  
  
“If I designed a new arm for myself, could he build it?” Tord asked. Paul nodded.  
  
“He could, yes, and I could amputate your existing arm. What about your eye?” Paul replied.  
  
The eye in question, while mostly undamaged, had lost nearly all of its sight. Tord hadn’t seen himself in a mirror, but apparently it was bad if Paul was suggesting replacing it.  
  
“Yes, I’ll likely need a replacement eye as well. How long do you think it’ll take?” Tord asked.  
  
“A few weeks? He’ll need to measure you a few different times, and the prosthetic you get after amputation will only be temporary. Then you’ll get your permanent one once the swelling goes down.” Paul explained, taking a drag from his ever present cigarette as he did so.  
  
“Alright, excellent. That’s the new top priority, soldier.”  
  
“Of course, Red Leader.” Paul hesitated. “Tord?”  
  
Tord, having turned to leave, turned back around at the sound of his name. “Yes?”  
  
“You know that Patryk and I are always here if you need to talk, yeah?” Paul said, concern flooding his previously professional tone. Tord softened.  
  
“I know, Paul. Thank you.” He said quietly before leaving Paul alone in his quarters.  
  
-:-::-:-  
  
Two weeks had passed since the incident, which no one on the base was discussing in even vague terms. Tord had been fitted with a prosthetic arm and eye, and preparation for world domination had continued mostly as normal, albeit with a few setbacks.  
  
Paul had been about to retire for the night when he heard quiet, hiccupy sobs coming from Tord’s office. He entered the room quietly to find Tord, tears streaming down his face as he sat next to a half empty bottle of what looked like Smirnoff.  
  
“Tord?” Paul said, making his presence known.  
  
“Heyyyyy Paul!” Tord said, a lopsided smile on his face as he tried to wipe away his tears.  
  
“Tord, what’s wrong?” Paul asked. “You never drink unless something’s very wrong.”  
  
“I’m fine, I-” Tord hiccuped. “’M just thinkin’.”  
  
“About what?” Paul asked, sitting next to where Tord had ended up on the floor.  
  
“‘Bout my friends. They hate me now, and I wanted them to.” Tord said, leaning on Paul’s shoulder.  
  
“Why did you want them to hate you?” Paul asked, nonchalantly moving the vodka bottle out of Tord’s reach.  
  
“'Cause I’m gonna take over the world and I didn’t want them getting hurt.” Tord replied quietly. “I really messed up, Paul.”  
  
“Maybe. But there’s still a chance of forgiveness.” Paul replied. “Edd’s very forgiving, that much I know.”  
  
“You know Edd?” Tord asked, shock evident on his face despite the intoxication.  
  
“Yeah, I do. I animated for a living before joining you, and still animate when I’ve got the time.” Paul said. “He’s one of the most forgiving individuals I’ve ever met.”  
  
“Yeah, he is. But I fucked up bad, Paul.” Tord practically cuddled into Paul, the most vulnerable he’d ever been in front of one of his soldiers.  
  
“What exactly did you say that was so bad?” Paul asked, stroking Tord’s hair in a comforting manner.  
  
“I said that I was never really their friend, said that I didn’t need friends when I had my giant robot. I blew up the house as well as the one next door and accidentally killed a bystander.” Tord said quietly, tears streaming down his face again.  
  
“Did you mean any of it?” Paul asked. Tord shook his head.  
  
“Of course not. Those three were some of the best things in my life.” Tord said.  
  
“Then Edd will forgive you. Not immediately, but he will. I know it.” Paul softly squeezed Tord in a hug, which Tord accepted.  
  
“…Thank you for this, Paul.”  
  
“No problem, boss.”  
  
The two sat in a quiet embrace until they both fell asleep.  
  
-:-::-:-  
  
Tord awoke on the floor of his office with a pounding headache. He groaned at the bright lights, pulling himself to his feet after a brief struggle. Placed on his desk was a glass of water, some aspirin, and a note.  
  
Tord took the aspirin and chugged the water before reading the note.  
  
'Boss, you got very drunk last night so here’s some aid for that hangover. Here’s his new address so you can apologize. -Paul’. Below these words was an address, circled in red ink.  
  
'His address’? Tord didn’t remember much from the previous night after having grabbed a bottle of vodka, but he could infer who 'he’ was based on the events from a few weeks ago.  
  
Tord sighed, grabbing his longcoat. It was going to be a long day.  
  
-:-::-:-  
  
“What the fuck are _you_ doing here?”  
  
Tord looked up from where he was about to knock on Edd’s door to see Tom, glaring with fire in his eye sockets. Tord let out a sigh, glad that Tom couldn’t see his right side: the side covered in scars and burns from the crash, the permanent reminder of what he’d done.  
  
“I’m here to apologize.” Tord replied quietly.  
  
“Edd’s not home, so you can leave.” Tom spat, his voice dripping with hostility.  
  
“Edd’s not the only one I need to apologize to, he’s just the only one I had the address for.” Tord said, turning to face Tom. Tord couldn’t see Tom scanning his face and arm, but felt it all the same. To his credit, Tom only raised one eyebrow at the sight of Tord’s scarred form.  
  
“I. Am. Sorry. I’ve made a lot of fuck ups, especially in how I’ve treated you.” The words burned Tord to say, but they needed to be said. His relationship with Tom had always been somewhat rocky, but he had gone too far in an attempt to get him out of the way. “I fucked up bad, and I’m sorry.”  
  
“Damn straight, commie.” Tom said. “I wasn’t exactly eager to see you return, but I would’ve at least tolerated it if you hadn’t messed with my family.” Tom turned away to return to his apartment.  
  
“I don’t forgive you. And I won’t. Not until you can prove to me that you’ve changed and won’t lapse back into megalomania.” Tom said, his voice hard and unforgiving. “But I’m sorry about your arm.”  
  
The door closed, and Tord was left alone in the hallway, emptier than ever.  
  
-:-::-:-  
  
“So what exactly is it that you _do_?”  
  
Jon had been hanging around Tord’s office in and out in the weeks after his death, seemingly unable to stray for too long.  
  
“The goal is to take over the world and remake it into something better.” Tord replied absently as he drew up maps. Jon floated around the office, occasionally drifting through walls before drifting back in.  
  
“I mean, yes, but what are you _doing_? Currently? What does your shadowy army actually do?”  
  
“We haven’t been doing much recently but planning and testing.” Tord said, putting down the pencil he’d been using as he turned his attention onto the conversation. “We helped put down a zombie outbreak a while back? Most of what we’re doing now is planning a coup to take over what parts of Norway we don’t already control.”  
  
“You’re part of the 'armed vigilantes’ they were talking about on the news?” Jon asked. Tord nodded.  
  
“I suppose. I wasn’t aware that the news had captured footage of us.”  
  
“Yeah, the news talked about you and your army trying to contain the zombies. I think my friend Mark might’ve seen you, actually. Did you do any fighting at ASDFland?” Jon asked.  
  
“Yes, near the end of the ordeal. We started on Dirdum Lane and forged onward, with Paul and Patryk receiving injuries in ASDFland that forced us to withdraw.” Tord paused. “I don’t actually know what happened to the rest of the zombies.”  
  
“I know! Edd, Tom, and Matt turned ASDFland into a zombie themed amusement park called Fun Dead. They’re still running it, as far as I know.” Jon replied. Tord looked at Jon in shock.  
  
“They did _what_?” A look of dawning came into Tord’s good eye. “I thought I’d been imagining Tom’s voice…”  
  
“I guess you weren’t.” The room was quiet for a few minutes.  
  
“How’s that friend of yours doing? Eduardo, right?” Tord asked, a bit awkwardly. Jon’s ever present smile faded.  
  
“Not great, honestly. He’s grieving really hard, and all my attempts to contact him have convinced him that I’m haunting him for what he did to me while I was alive.” Jon said. “I wish I could actually talk to him.” Tord quietly watched the youthful ghost drift through the room like an astronaut without a tether.  
  
“…Maybe I can help you with that. Where does he live?”  
  
-:-::-:-  
  
Tord knocked on the door of Eduardo’s studio apartment gingerly, afraid of causing more damage.  
  
Eduardo opened the door somberly, only for his somber expression to sour into undiluted fury. His eyes flickered a radioactive green, as did his hair.  
  
“What. The _fuck_. Are _you_ doing here?” He spat, rage bleeding into every syllable. Tord might have been afraid if he was any other person, but he just felt tired.  
  
“I’m here to apologize. And to atone.” Tord replied.  
  
Eduardo gave a harsh, broken laugh. “Atone? You can’t undo what you’ve done. You _killed_ Jon. There’s no coming back from that.”  
  
“I can’t resurrect him, no. But there’s one thing I _can_ do. I can give you a chance to talk to him.” Tord said. Jon, who had been floating nearby, looked confused.  
  
“What? How will you-” Realization struck. “Ohhhh…. But I don’t know how to do that!”  
  
“And how, exactly, will you get me in contact with him? Is there a Ouija Board hidden in that coat of yours?” Eduardo snarked.  
  
“No, but I can let him possess me so the two of you can talk.” Tord said calmly, as if he were talking about the weather.  
  
“You can do what?” Eduardo laughed. “Be my guest. If you can _actually_ contact Jon, then I’ll consider accepting that apology you haven’t given.”  
  
Jon looked between Tord and Eduardo nervously before closing his eyes and leaping into Tord’s body.  
  
Tord moved and stretched without his consent. He felt like a bystander in his own body, a fixture in the back of someone else’s mind. He’d never felt so disoriented in his life, and the only thing stopping him from attempting to shove out the foreign presence was the sheer _joy_ he was receiving from Jon.  
  
“Eduardo!” Jon said, using Tord’s voice without the Norwegian accent. He coughed. “Wow, this is weird.” He said, sounding more like himself. Eduardo’s eyes widened.  
  
“That’s not a bad impression.” Eduardo said, trying to stay aloof. “What does it prove, exactly?”  
  
“Eduardo, it’s me, Jon! I’ve been trying to contact you for weeks now. Tord’s the only one who can see me, so I’ve been writing on the mirrors.” Jon smiled with Tord’s face, proud of his initiative. Eduardo paled.  
  
“You… What?” Eduardo stuttered.  
  
“Yeah, I think I scared you with that. Sorry, Eduardo.” Jon said apologetically.  
  
“Jon? That’s _actually_ you?” Eduardo stammered. Jon nodded.  
  
“Mmhm. Being a ghost is weird.” Jon mused. Eduardo seemed shaky and unstable. “Are you okay?”  
  
“Of course I’m not, dumbass!” Eduardo yelled, his eyes swimming with tears. “Y-you _died_. In front of my very eyes, and I couldn’t do anything. I c-couldn’t even… I’ve done so _much_ wrong to you, and I couldn’t even apologise.” The tears in Eduardo’s eyes began dripping down his face as he shook with raw emotion. “I- I-”  
  
Eduardo was cut off by Jon wrapping him in a hug.  
  
“I already forgave you, silly. You’re my best friend, why wouldn’t I?” Jon murmured as he soothed Eduardo, who had returned the hug and was loudly sobbing.  
  
“I don’t deserve you…” Eduardo mumbled through his tears.  
  
“That’s not true, Eduardo! You’re the best, even if you can be a little mean sometimes.” Jon said, squeezing his old friend tighter.  
  
The two stood in the hallway hugging for a long time, pleased to be able to contact each other again.  
  
Tord, still witnessing the spectacle from the back of his own mind, wanted to vomit. He’d killed the man inhabiting his body and had nearly shattered another as a result. He shouldn’t have felt as sick as he did, but his actions just felt so personal and grotesque. Never before had he been forced to deal with consequences, and it made him feel smaller than he’d ever felt. The resolve to make it up to everyone he had wronged surged forth, stronger than ever before.  
  
Caught in his musings, he almost missed Jon’s conscious prodding gently at his, asking a silent question. Tord signaled an affirmative, and was placed back in control of his own body.  
  
Tord shuddered a bit as Jon left him, floating next to Eduardo.  
  
“Thank you for that.” Eduardo said quietly. Tord nodded.  
  
“It’s literally the least I could do.” Tord said with a shrug.  
  
“No kidding.” Eduardo said with a scoff.  
  
The two men were quiet, standing around awkwardly.  
  
“Bring him back sometime, okay?” Eduardo asked, not looking Tord in the eyes.  
  
“Of course.” Tord said. Eduardo glanced at him, thankful, before closing the door.  
  
His apology had never been said, but Tord could tell that he wasn’t forgiven. That was fine, he thought, watching the ghost of Jon chatter on about how great it was to talk to Eduardo again. Tord didn’t deserve forgiveness, not for this. Not for taking the life of a man he hadn’t even known.  
  
-:-::-:-  
  
“…Why are you back here?”  
  
Tord noted that Eduardo looked significantly healthier, the bags under his eyes lessened. His expression was still a tired grimace, but Tord suspected that was his default expression.  
  
“I need a couple of things. Jon’s not here, I needed to see you one on one for this.” Tord said calmly. “Can I come in?”  
  
Eduardo looked him up and down before shrugging and opening up the door wider.  
  
“Whatever.” Eduardo grumbled, disappearing back into the apartment. Tord took this as an affirmative, following him in and closing the door behind him.  
  
The apartment was in a state of clutter and disarray, clothes and empty cans of diet cola strewn across the floor. Eduardo led him to the kitchen, grabbing yet another can of Diet Coke.  
  
“You want anything?” Eduardo asked, turning to face Tord. Tord shrugged.  
  
“I wouldn’t spurn plain cola if you’ve got any.” Tord replied. Eduardo scoffed, but removed a can from the fridge, brusquely shoving it into Tord’s hand.  
  
“You’re lucky that Edd comes over every so often, I hate regular cola.” Eduardo muttered, sitting at the kitchen table. Tord stiffened at the reminder of Edd. “Take a seat, uh… Tad, was it?”  
  
“It’s Tord.” He said quietly, sitting across from Eduardo.  
  
“So, Tord, what do you want from me? I take it you’re not here for the cola and conversation.” Eduardo said drily.  
  
“No, no, you’re right. I’ll be frank: I need some pictures of Jon, and some of his clothes.” Tord stated. Eduardo frowned.  
  
“Why?” He said suspiciously.  
  
“Another part of my atonement. Getting to know the people I’ve wronged, that sort of thing.” Tord explained, only partially lying. It was for his atonement, but certainly not for getting to know the people he’d harmed. He already knew Jon relatively well, the little ghost rarely shut up.  
  
“I’ve got some things in the bedroom, the stuff I could salvage from the house. Gimme a sec.” Eduardo said, getting up from his place at the table. Tord took the moment alone to look more closely at the apartment.  
  
The walls were covered in a variety of photos, mostly of Eduardo and the people who seemed to be his friends. Several pictures had Eduardo with Jon and a blond man in a turtleneck, others had Eduardo and Jon alone. A couple had Eduardo and the blond by themselves. A significant number had Eduardo with a blue haired girl, the happiest Eduardo looked in these photos.  
  
Tord froze upon seeing one photo, one with Eduardo and Edd. Edd smiled in the picture, arm held around a frustrated looking Eduardo, as if the picture wasn’t his idea.  
  
“Boo.”  
  
Tord jumped up out of his chair, uncovering his metal arm in preparation for a fight. He relaxed a little upon seeing Eduardo, smirking while holding a cardboard box.  
  
“Someone’s jumpy.” Eduardo said smugly. He glanced at where Tord had been looking, seeing the picture of himself and Edd. “What’s your deal with Edd? Other than blowing up his house, I mean.”  
  
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Tord said tersely, pulling his sleeve back down to cover his arm. He nodded at the box in Eduardo’s hands. “What’s in there?”  
  
“Some recent photos, a couple sets of Jon’s clothes, other personal things.” Eduardo explained. “You can borrow these for a little while, but bring 'em back intact, okay? You may have had a giant robot but I’ll kick your ass.”  
  
“I don’t doubt it.” Tord said, taking the box gingerly. “I’ll be careful, I promise.”  
  
“You’d better be.” Eduardo said, his eyes flashing green again. Tord burned with curiosity at the sight, but restrained himself from asking.  
  
’ _Not the time, Larsen. Later_.’ He thought to himself. Tord nodded to Eduardo once before leaving, box in tow.  
  
-:-::-:-  
  
“Uh, boss, what are you doing?”  
  
Tord turned away from his blueprints to see Patryk staring at the various plans and metal scraps strewn around his office.  
  
“Building something.” Tord said, unwilling to give any details. He wanted this to be a surprise, and the more people in on it, the more likely the chances that it would be ruined.  
  
“I see that, but what?” Patryk tried to glance around Tord to see the blueprints, but was blocked from doing so.  
  
“A personal project, not of your concern.” He replied, waiting for Patryk to back away.  
  
“Really? Because it looks like you’re building another robot.” Patryk said, pointing to a metal torso sitting in a corner.  
  
“And if I am?” Tord challenged, his fatigue from days of sleepless building making him brash and childish.  
  
“I just don’t want to see you get hurt again, boss.” Patryk said quietly, his voice oozing concern. Tord was quiet.  
  
“…This robot has a different purpose. I’m trying to… make amends.” Tord said softly, before clearing his throat, his voice growing a little louder. “Thank you for your concern, but all’s well. At ease, soldier.”  
  
Patryk gave a salute and a quiet smile as he left Tord to his work.  
  
-:-::-:-  
  
“Jon, close your eyes. I want to show you something.”  
  
The little ghost squinted his eyes shut when Tord gave the order. Tord pressed a button at his desk, a hatch sliding open in the floor with a hiss. A relatively tall object, covered by a white sheet rises slowly from the floor, a whirring sound accompanying it as the platform it rests on clicks into place.  
  
“You can open your eyes, Jon.” Tord said. Jon did, but tilted his head in confusion at the covered object, orbiting it to try and guess what it was.  
  
“What is it?” Jon asked, having turned upside down briefly while inspecting the unknown object. Tord smiled, a warm, genuine smile. Those had become increasingly rare for him, but this was an appropriate moment.  
  
Tord yanked the sheet off of the object with a flourish, and Jon gasped.  
  
Standing on the platform was a perfect copy of Jon, it’s eyes closed, body stiff. A set of Jon’s clothes hung on the body, the same way that the little ghost’s clothes hung. Jon’s eyes were wide as he reached out towards the body, hand trembling.  
  
“Is this…” His words trailed off, but the question was still clear.  
  
“It’s a perfect replica of your body, made using a combination of robotics and biology. Everything is functional, you’ll be able to eat, drink, sleep, breathe, anything a normal human body can do, though you don’t actually need to.” Tord grinned. “It took months of study and research, but I can say in all honesty that’s it’s my greatest creation.”  
  
Phantasmal blue tears formed in Jon’s eyes, his lip trembling.  
  
“Can I…” He asked, looking back at Tord.  
  
“It’s your body, go ahead.” Tord said with a smile. Jon dove into the android, which opened its eyes and smiled. Jon looked down at himself, pinching himself to make sure that he wasn’t dreaming. Tears, physical ones, formed in Jon’s eyes, and he tackled Tord in a hug.  
  
“Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!” Jon’s words came out in a rush as he squeezed Tord tightly. Tord, having initially stiffened at the embrace, relaxed, returning Jon’s hug.  
  
“It’s the least I could do. There are a couple of things to note, though.” Tord said. Jon pulled out of the hug, tilting his head quizzically.  
  
“What is it?” Jon asked.  
  
“Your body will be tough to injure, but it can still happen. Because the body isn’t technically organic, you can’t heal, so you’ll need to come back to me if you get hurt. Additionally, I’ll need to alter the body every so often if you want to simulate aging. Probably every few years or so, to add wrinkles or what have you.” Tord explained. “You got it?”  
  
Jon nodded enthusiastically. “I’ve got it. This is the best thing you could’ve done for me, thank you so much, Tord.”  
  
“It really was no trouble.” A lie. It had taken many sleepless nights (much to the concern of Paul and Patryk, as well as the rest of his army) and more physical and mental exertion than was probably healthy to create the android, but it was more than worth it. He could never fully return what he’d taken from Jon, but he’d given back as much as he could.  
  
If only he hadn’t taken it in the first place.  
  
-:-::-:-  
  
Jon had been accepted as an occupant of Eduardo’s apartment with much hugging and crying, which Tord had been reluctantly drawn into by both men.  
  
“I forgive you. Thank you for bringing him home.” Eduardo had said quietly, before taking Jon into the apartment to catch up after several months apart.  
  
The forgiveness didn’t lighten Tord’s conscience as much as he’d hoped, but that was fine. He didn’t really deserve the forgiveness, but it was nice of Eduardo to offer it.  
  
Tord returned to work, plotting to overtake Russia. What remained of Norway to conquer had been quietly taken without much fanfare, all press stifled by the Public Relations Department of the Red Army. His actions toward his old friends and their neighbors still weighed on his heart, but he pushed the guilt aside. He couldn’t let himself grow soft; after all, the world wouldn’t take over itself.  
  
Tord had been making his way back to his office when he heard footsteps inside; not anyone he would trust inside his office, all his closest confidants had been trained to have whisper quiet footsteps for stealth purposes.  
  
He pulled one of his various handguns from its holster, opening the door quietly as he trained his sights on whoever had the audacity to sneak into the Red Leader’s quarters.  
  
Tord’s eyes widened as he saw Tom looking around his office, seemingly looking at Tord’s map of strategy. Tord’s quiet gasp attracted Tom’s attention, who raised his hands up as a show of peace when he saw Tord’s shaky hands pointing a gun at him.  
  
“Relax, Commie, I’m just here to talk.” Tom deadpanned. “Lighten up.”  
  
“How the _fuck_ did you find this place? What the hell are you doing here?” Tord stammered, refusing to lower his gun.  
  
“Jon’s back. He told me that it was your doing, as well as where to find you.” Tom explained. Tord lowered his gun, looking at the floor.  
  
“Why would you even want to find me? I destroyed your house and tried to kill you, what would you want from me?” Tord quietly hoped that Tom was there to kill him, he didn’t think he could take forgiveness. Forgiveness from the man he’d killed without a thought was bad enough, he wasn’t strong enough to handle it from Tom.  
  
“I’m just curious about something. Why?”  
  
Tord tilted his head quizzically. Jon had rubbed off on him, it seemed. “Why what?”  
  
“Why’d you build Jon a new body?” Tom asked.  
  
Tord shrugged, preparing himself to lie. Showing weakness was against his nature, especially to Tom. “Shits and giggles. It was a wonderful challenge, and the little blue ghost was a convenient test subject.” Total lies, he’d done it because he felt like shit. But again, he’d never tell Tom that.  
  
Tord could feel Tom’s scrutiny, despite the lack of eyes to indicate scrutiny.  
  
“Heh.” Tom said, one corner of his mouth quirking up as if he was about to laugh at a joke that only he knew.  
  
“What?” Tord asked, a bit frantic. Had Tom seen through his lie?  
  
“I can’t believe I genuinely thought you might’ve changed. Enjoy your world takeover, _Red Leader_.” Tom spat the title as if it hurt to say before shoving his way past Tord, leaving him alone with the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.  
  
Tom hadn’t seen through the facade, and that somehow hurt more than anything he had said.  
  
Tord broke out a bottle of Smirnoff, grinning sadly at the irony as he drank himself into unconsciousness.  
  
-:-::-:-  
  
Tord was out again, staring blankly at the rubble from what used to be his house. It had been six months, but no one had bothered to clear away the shattered, charred remains.  
  
He wandered through the debris, looking for something he could salvage after all this time. Winter had come to the streets of London, and Tord shivered, his hoodie and overcoat unable to fully shelter him from the cold. He continued to search, but all that he could see was ash and furniture broken beyond repair.  
  
Tord wandered over to the crater where Jon had died, or at least where he thought Jon had died, based on the dark patch of dried blood staining the earth. The sight of the dark brownish stain made Tord faintly ill, but that had become a norm since he’d broken ties with his ~~family~~ friends.  
  
Tord saw something glinting in the center of the crater, so he wandered down into the indent to inspect it. He found a broken photo, the image inside obscured by dirt, ash, and dried blood.  
  
He used his metal hand to wipe away the dirt and ash, scraping off the blood without emotion. The photo inside the shattered frame and glass was of him, Tom, Matt, and Edd, smiling at the camera jovially. The four of them were all holding each other, cohesive and truly happy. In the photo Tord’s image was slightly blurred by the dried blood he’d been unable to scrub away.  
  
The water dripping onto the photograph surprised Tord. He looked up to see if it had begun to rain, but there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.  
  
’ _Oh. I’m crying_ ,’ he thought, initially detached from the sobs wracking his tiny frame. The anguish soon caught up with him, and his sobs increased in volume and intensity, leaving him shivering on the ground.  
  
_'IfuckedupIfuckedupIfuckedup’_ That was the only thought running through his mind as months of repressed emotions crashed in on him at once. He was a goddamn idiot, ruining everything he’d built with the people who were practically his family. Something needed to change, he needed to at least try to fix things. Something concrete. He’d fixed things with people he barely knew, it was high time he did something for the people whose trust he’d betrayed.  
  
He hiccuped as he wiped his eyes with his good hand, unwilling to risk injuring his good eye with the dirt and ash still clinging to his prosthetic.  
  
A gulp of the crisp winter air helped to calm him, but he continued shaking until just before he returned to his base, broken photo in hand. His hood was pulled up over his head as he stomped towards his office, but if anyone had seen his eyes, they’d have seen determination despite the redness. One thing was for sure: Tord had work to do.  
  
-:-::-:-  
  
Tord’s face was blank as he scribbled out a goodbye note to his soldiers. He couldn’t falter, not now. He had to do this. It was the only way.  
  
His melancholic reverie was broken by Paul and Patryk entering his office. He hastily shoved the note beneath some battle plans, unwilling to reveal his plan until it was too late to stop him.  
  
“Sir?” Paul asked. “Are you alright? You look a little… on edge.” Because he was. He needed to set his actions in motion, but the presence of his ~~friends~~ ~~confidants~~ _soldiers_ could make him hesitant, and that was something he couldn’t have. Tord needed to go through with it, for the sake of his former friends.   
  
“I’m fine. What was it that you needed?” Tord asked, pretending to be calm.  
  
“We’ve been worried, Tord. You’ve been shutting yourself away a lot over the past few days.” Patryk said, concern clear on his face, as well as Paul’s.  
  
“All is well, I’m simply orchestrating things for the next phase of my plans. It’s required a lot of time to myself.” Tord explained honestly. He wasn’t explaining everything, but he wasn’t lying, except by omission.  
  
“What’s the plan, boss?” Paul asked. Tord hesitated, but only for a moment.  
  
“There’s a number of factors, but one of the significant ones is that the two of you will be receiving a promotion.” Tord explained. “The two of you will be able to take full command of the army and work independently from myself.” Also true. The position he was raising the two into could certainly be considered an upgrade, though they likely wouldn’t see it that way.  
  
“Really? That’s very generous of you.” Patryk said, a little surprised.  
  
“Unfortunately, setting everything up requires a great deal of paperwork that I must complete. Miles to go before I sleep, and all of that.” Tord said, feigning nonchalance. The longer the two were there, the more his resolve crumbled. Still, he had to remain strong.  
  
“Of course, sir. We’ll leave you to it.” Paul said, turning to leave. Patryk exited first with a salute, but Paul lingered inside the doorway.  
  
“Hmm? What is it?” Tord asked. Paul looked over his shoulder at Tord.  
  
“Tord, I’ve known you for years. Just… Don’t do anything stupid, okay?” And then Paul left, with Tord alone yet again.  
  
Even though Paul couldn’t possibly hear him, Tord responded anyway. “That’s where you’re wrong, old friend. This is the smartest decision I’ve made in years.”  
  
-:-::-:-  
  
All of Tord’s affairs were in order, so the time had come to act.  
  
He laid his goodbye letters for Paul and Patryk on their desks, with a more general one for the Army left on his own. Ignoring any attempts at communication, he left the base, ready to set his plan in motion.  
  
Tord’s first stop was the complex where his former friends lived, along with Eduardo and Jon. He snuck in without drawing attention to himself, a black hoodie covering his signature hair. A note was shoved under each of the four doors, though two were slipped under Eduardo’s. He left the complex quickly, not wanting to see anyone. He’d tried to see them before, but this wasn’t the time for any kind of reunion. Tord had a mission.  
  
Tord searched around for a payphone so he could perform the most vital step in his plan. He found one a few blocks from the complex, located outside a pub. He entered the phone booth, taking a deep breath before practicing his accent.  
  
“Holy poptart on a pencil sharpener! I’m Thomas Thompson, and I hate Tord Larsen!” Tord enunciated, his voice an impressive approximation of Tom’s. He nodded in satisfaction before dialing 999.  
  
“999, what is your emergency?” The operator said calmly.  
  
“I’d like to report seeing a wanted man, Tord Larsen.” He said in Tom’s voice. “He’s in a bar, The Deus Ex Machina on the corner of Fifth and Maple.”  
  
“Thank you for your information. How would you like the reward delivered to you, Mr….” The woman on the other end of the line trailed off.  
  
“My name is Tom Thompson, and I’d like it in the form of a check. My address is 207 Elm Drive, London, Apartment 122.” Tord said, unfaltering.  
  
“Alright. A squadron is being sent to detain him. Do not engage, Larsen is highly dangerous.” She warned.  
  
“Of course, ma'am. Have a good day.” Tord said politely. The woman hung up the phone, and Tord did the same, making his way into The Deus Ex Machina.  
  
“Bartender, get me a Denouement.” Tord said, picking something random off the vast menu. The barkeep nodded, turning to make what seemed to be a very elaborate cocktail.  
  
Before the bartender could hand Tord his drink, the military burst into the small bar, surrounding Tord from all sides.  
  
“Hands in the air, Larsen!” One shouted with vitriol. Tord sighed, holding up his hands.  
  
’ _You could laser them all to ash, walk away free. Go and pretend it was all another lie._ ’ He thought. Then he shook his head. No, he couldn’t, he needed to do this. It was necessary.  
  
He quietly let the soldiers handcuff him, brusquely shoving him into the back of a military vehicle. A dozen soldiers pointed their guns at him as they rode along in silence. At least, for a while.  
  
“So, the great Red Leader is just a bratty twenty something with stupid hair?” One of the soldiers, middle aged and slightly doughy, jabbed with a sneer. “ _You_ managed to take over Norway?”  
  
Tord remained silent.  
  
“I bet it wasn’t even you. You’re just the scapegoat for the _real_ Larsen, aren’t you? What is he, your boss?” The soldier continued, ignorant to the concerned states of his fellow soldiers, who were all backing away from him as much as the confined space would allow. Smart men.  
  
“That’s it, isn’t it? Your boss sent you to die for him, what an assho-” Tord had maneuvered his cuffs just enough so as to clutch the soldier by his neatly pressed shirt collar. Tord stared straight into the man’s frightened eyes, his mechanical eye glinting a vicious, violent red as he spoke, his voice cold as ice.  
  
“You know _nothing_. I am subordinate to none, in _heavy_ contrast to yourself. I will remind you that I am captured, _not_ broken. You’d do wise to not confuse the two, _drittsekk_.” Tord released the soldier, looking away from his frightened expression. The rest of the ride was consumed by utter silence.  
  
-:-::-:-  
  
“So, the great Red Leader’s been captured, huh? Isn’t this just my lucky day.”  
  
Tord had been shoved into an interrogation room, shackled to a chair nailed into the floor. The general across from him was grinning a vile, nasty grin, like he’d seen Tord get pantsed and set on fire.  
  
“I suppose it is. What do you plan to do with me, now that you have me?” Tord asked, cool and unaffected.  
  
“I’m the one asking the questions here, but I’ll gladly answer yours. You’ll be telling me about your base, and then you get to spend a week in solitary while we get the approval to give you the death penalty.” The general sneered. Death penalty? Tord had been expecting life in prison, and had been preparing himself for that. He could handle solitude for years, he wouldn’t crack. But death? Much as it was unexpected, Tord couldn’t bring himself to care as much as he likely should have.  
  
’ _You knew this would be the end, Larsen. Suck it up._ ’ He told himself.  
  
“I’ll never tell you. Most of my soldiers left me, the base is deserted, there’s nothing there of any worth.” Tord spat. “I was in a bar to drink and regroup, but we both know how _that_ turned out.”  
  
The general gave Tord a level stare, scanning his posture and tone for any sign of deception. Nearly all of what Tord had said was false, but he’d been lying for long enough to do so very convincingly. The general (his name tag said McCoy) nodded, seemingly convinced of Tord’s honesty.  
  
“You’ve really got nothing left for you, huh, Larsen?” The general said joyfully. “That’s just _priceless_.”  
  
“Shut up.” Tord muttered. While his own words had been false, McCoy’s hit harder than he’d like.  
  
“You’re in no position to be making any demands.” McCoy scoffed. He stood to leave. “Well, it’s been fun, but I really do have other matters to attend to. The guards will show you to your cell.” Just before he left the room, he looked back, a wicked grin on his face. “Be sure to think about what you want for your last meal, Larsen.”  
  
The door slammed shut, McCoy’s words echoing in Tord’s mind.


	2. Involvement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been two months but here's chapter 2! Sorry for the wait. Warnings for blood, violence, and heavy injury.

It was an hour after Tord had left when Paul and Patryk found the letters. 

Paul had found his first, stumbling into his office sleepily, unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth. The sight of an envelope with familiar crimson writing on it made Paul become wide awake. His eyes widened as he began to read the letter. 

’ _Paul. You’re head of the army now, as is Patryk. Do whatever you want with it. I’m not dead, but you’ll likely never see me again. If you’re reading this, I’m probably already in prison, though I’m not sure which one I’ll be sent to, considering how many countries I’ve committed war crimes in._

_I’m sorry for just leaving you like this, but I had to. It was the only way to attempt to make up for what I’ve done, to both my former friends and the world at large. You’ve been a good friend all these years, though I never really referred to you as such aloud._

_I’m sorry. Carry on without me, old friend. -Tord.’_

Paul wanted to crumple the letter in anger, but restrained himself. He had to show Patryk, though Patryk likely received a similar one. 

Paul hurried over to Patryk’s quarters, slamming open the door. 

“Paul? What time is it?” Patryk mumbled sleepily, awakened by the loud crack of the door hitting the wall. 

“Don’t know, don’t care. Read this.” Paul said tersely, shoving the letter into Patryk’s face. Patryk pulled himself into a sitting position sluggishly, making no attempts to straighten his hair or twisted tank top as he grabbed the letter from Paul’s hands. 

Scanning the letter, Patryk’s expression of sleepy confusion turned into lucid shock. As he finished the letter, he looked up at Paul in horror. 

“He did _what_?” Patryk exclaimed. 

“I am 100 percent certain that he turned himself in to the authorities, and he’s been planning this for days,” Paul replied, his voice tense. “He’ll get multiple life sentences at least, but he’s probably going to get the death penalty.” 

“Undoubtedly. We gonna break him out?” Patryk asked, leaping out of bed and hastily getting dressed. Paul nodded. 

“Of course. But we should probably actually take care of the Army first. We’re in charge now!” Paul said assertively. The two were quiet for a moment. 

“We’re gonna mess with that one asshole who insulted your pilot skills last week, aren’t we,” Patryk stated, equal parts exasperated and amused. 

“I meant make sure everything runs smoothly so that the Army can run without leadership for a few days, but issuing a few demerits to that _klootzak_ of a general sounds awesome,” Paul stated gleefully. Patryk put his face in his hands. 

“Of course it does. Let’s get going, Tord doesn’t need to be there for much longer,” Patryk said. The two pilots, now marshals, exited Patryk’s quarters, ready to free their boss and mutual friend. 

-:-::-:- 

The various tenants of the complex Tom had purchased discovered the letters one by one as the building came alive. 

Jon was the first one to find a letter. His synthetic body didn’t technically need any sleep, so he had developed a tendency to go to bed late and rise early. 

He tilted his head quizzically at the unmarked letters that had been shoved underneath the door of the flat he shared with Eduardo. Kneeling down to pick them up, he found no return address or indication as to the writer, simply his and Eduardo’s names written in a curving red script. 

Carefully opening the letter, he sat down to read it. 

_‘Jon, there is no possible way for me to make up for what I have done to you. I took your life away and, despite my efforts, nothing can really be done to completely fix what I’ve done.’_ The writing became mildly shaky. _‘I am so, so sorry. That doesn’t mean anything in comparison to what I’ve done, but it needs to be said. You didn’t deserve what you got, not at all, and I wish I could fully make it up to you. -Tord’_

Jon felt tears come to his eyes, the liquid smudging the ink of the note. Tord had already been forgiven a long time ago, and had more than made up for everything. At least to Jon. 

Jon laid the letter addressed to his roommate by his bedside, going to make breakfast without much thought regarding the letter beyond a faint sense of melancholy. 

Matt was second to find a letter, having awoken to find a pale envelope lying on his floor in heavy contrast to the salmon colored carpeting. 

He opened it without much thought, taking no real notice of the red writing beyond a slight flinch at the color. 

_‘Matt. I’m sorry. For your memory, for your face, for everything. I don’t ask for forgiveness, I just want you to know that I regret my actions. I hope you’re okay. -Tord’_

Matt froze. Tord was trying to _apologize_? A knot formed in the pit of his stomach, his hands clammy at the thought of the man who had punched him in the face and almost killed his friends. 

Matt took a deep breath and huffed, trying to disguise his panic despite his solitude. If Tord wanted to apologize, he’d have to do it in person (much as the thought of seeing him again terrified Matt more than almost anything else). Matt had been living with the events of the explosion for six months now, Tord would need to do a lot to make it up to him. 

He crumpled up the note, throwing it in a waste bin before putting it out of his mind entirely, not for a moment thinking that he should inform his friends of the letter. 

Eduardo was next, having blearily awoken to find the letter next to his face. Squinting a little, he used the radioactive glow he had developed as a light source to read the note. 

_'I am beyond sorry for everything. I did my best to return him to you, but my best could never be good enough. If he gets hurt, take him to my base. Ask for Patryk, he’ll fix him up with not a lot of questions. I’d do it myself, but I’m not going to be doing much for a while. Take care of him, he deserves so much more than he got. -Tord’_

Eduardo blinked groggily at the letter, absorbing Tord’s words before lying the letter back on his bedside. 

“Whatever,” he mumbled, dragging himself out of bed with a grunt. “Hope for Jon’s sake he hasn’t done anything stupid.” The letter was forgotten as Eduardo wandered into the kitchen, smiling as he ate the breakfast Jon had prepared. 

Tom’s response to seeing the letter at his door was intense, blinding anger. Tord had _no_ right to approach him, especially not through such a cowardly, indirect method as writing. He had destroyed the house, damaged Matt and Edd, killed Jon, and cut all ties, yet he wanted Tom to read his goddamn note? It was probably full of false apologies, designed to make Tom open up so Tord could knee him in the gut and steal away the peace he’d so carefully cultivated over six months. Tord had no right to Tom’s attention, no right to his consideration. 

The feeling of sharp nails digging into his palms and pointed teeth grinding in his mouth forced him to try and calm down. Much as Tord was the bane of his existence, getting angry and morphing into a monster in the middle of his tiny apartment was a bad idea. 

Tom grabbed a bottle of Smirnoff and the letter, drinking until he felt his teeth and nails return to normal. He opened the letter, taking a deep breath before he began to read it. 

_'Tom, I can’t ask for forgiveness, and I won’t. There’s no chance of you forgiving me, I know that, and I don’t deserve it anyway. This letter is to say that I won’t be bothering any of you again. I’ve already done what I can to make amends, and you’ll see the fruits of that soon. You can use it for whatever you want, but it’s being given with the intent of fixing up the house._

_I’m sorry, Tom. I lied to you and everyone else, both before and after my greatest failure. Take care of them, yeah? If you need to, have them forget me. They don’t deserve to live with the pain. -Tord’_

Tom’s mouth was a grim line as he read Tord’s apologies. To his credit, he didn’t expect Tom to forgive, and he didn’t try to justify himself. Tom could almost respect that. _Almost._

Tom’s sockets narrowed as the letter mentioned 'amends’. Whatever Tord was going to give him, Tom didn’t want it. Knowing the commie bastard, it’d explode or something and just be a giant middle finger to everything he and the others had done to regroup. 

Matt had been mostly unaffected by everything, or at least he’d tried to seem that way. Tom had caught him looking in the mirror with a look of haunted sorrow for the week after the explosion, hand on his black eye. He’d been a little slower to smile, a little quicker to flinch. The phrases 'brave soldier’ and 'old friend’ had been entirely banned, and the color red couldn’t be found out in the open in any of the apartments. (Privately, that was a different matter. Tom knew for a fact that Edd had managed to salvage a photo of the four of them, looking young and truly happy. Tom had caught him looking at it more than once, but hadn’t mentioned it. Those quiet moments weren’t for Tom to witness, and he knew that.) 

Edd blamed himself for the whole ordeal, no matter how much Tom tried to convince him otherwise. His thoughts were that he should’ve known Tord’s intentions, shouldn’t have gone along so easily. The first thing Edd had said to Tom once they were alone after the explosion was that he was sorry for not trusting Tom’s judgement. Tom had forgiven Edd, but Edd hadn’t forgiven himself. 

And yet, some part of Edd still held hope for Tord’s redemption. 

But that was Edd, and Tom still held no feelings for Tord other than hatred and hurt. Trusting him to lay his intentions out at face value was foolish, and Tom would not let Tord ruin his family again. 

Tom tucked the letter away, making a note to not mention it to Edd. No need to give him false hope. Edd had suffered enough at Tord’s hands. 

The last in the complex to find a letter was Edd, whose froze upon seeing his name in the red script he knew to be Tord’s. His hands shook as he picked it up, eyes wide with hope and fear in equal measure. 

_'Edd, I can never fully undo what I’ve done. I killed Jon, destroyed two houses, nearly killed Tom, and ruined any semblance of trust you had for me. I’ve tried to reverse what I can, but I know it’ll never be enough. I don’t ask for forgiveness. I just want you to know that I’m sorry, Edd. Really, truly sorry. Take care, old friend. I won’t bother you again. -Tord’_

Edd put his hand on his mouth, tears rapidly filling his eyes and blurring his vision. He… He was sorry. That meant more to Edd than anything. Where _was_ Tord? What had he been doing for the six months since the explosion? Edd was bursting with questions, but Tord said he wasn’t coming back. 

Edd wasn’t sure if the twisting in his gut was from fear or something else. Regret, maybe? He still felt guilty about not seeing Tord’s real motives in returning, not that he even knew all of those. When had he even _made_ the robot? Whatever Tord had been doing back at the house, it wasn’t good. Edd had been a fool to think that he’d want to be friends again after all that time. 

And yet, Tord had apologized. He’d tried to make amends (there had been lots of crying in the building the day Jon had returned), and didn’t expect forgiveness. 

Edd sighed. Even with all that Tord had done to break his trust, he _wanted_ to forgive. He desperately craved for things to return to the way they were before. Before Tord left, before Tord returned. Before Tord betrayed. 

Edd tried to shake off the wave of sentimentality and melancholy. He wouldn’t have to worry about Tord coming home and destroying everything. He’d never see Tord again. That was a good thing. 

Right? 

-:-::-:- 

Paul and Patryk were gearing up for the break in of the century: Operation Redde Tord. A simple name, but a fitting one. 

The two, now in charge of Tord’s army, had arranged things so as to allow for a temporarily leaderless military. Any question or concern or information meant to go to Paul, Patryk, or Tord would be rerouted to that one Lieutenant Colonel with all of the paperwork, who could then route things through the appropriate channels. There were designated sectors for everything, not much needed to go to the very top of the totem pole. 

A few quiet visits to intelligence had revealed that Tord was being held in a high security prison somewhere in Manchester, U.K. A couple more visits gave them access to a layout, guard schedule, and inmate catalog, as well as a few other things they’d need to break Tord out. The intelligence officer involved had been silently promoted and heavily bribed for their work. 

The two hadn’t released a statement to the entire army, even after reading Tord’s letter to the army (which was remarkably long and boiled down to 'carry on without me’). They’d merely slipped out one night, armed to the teeth and ready to rescue their friend and commander. 

If only it had been that simple. 

-:-::-:- 

Edd, Matt, and Tom had been casually flipping through channels when they saw it. 

A news anchor sat calmly at her desk, a mug shot of Tord in the top right corner of the screen, with two smaller mugshots below him. 

“Tord? Paul?” Edd exclaimed. Everyone else was quiet as the newscaster began to speak. 

“Today, associates of Tord Larsen, the criminal mastermind known across Europe as the Red Leader, were caught attempting to break him out of Her Majesty’s Prison in Manchester. The two men, Paul Vorpahl and Patryk Gretzky, have been apprehended and imprisoned inside. The three of them have been confirmed to be receiving the death penalty this coming Thursday.” 

“He’s in jail?” Tom, confused. 

“He’s getting the death penalty?” Matt, horrified. 

“Paul’s working for Tord?” Edd, shocked. 

The three of them looked at each other, not saying anything after their initial outbursts. 

“That’s… one less thing to worry about, I guess,” Tom grumbled. Edd stared at the ground. 

“I guess so.” 

All was quiet yet again, as everyone just watched the newscaster talk about the weather for the week. 

“We should change the channel,” Matt remarked. “Maybe there’s something good on.” 

His comment was met with nearly a minute of silence. 

“…As long as it’s not Professor Why,” Tom conceded. Edd changed the channel, and the three of them watched television in silence. 

A few hours later, it was time for Tom and Matt to go back to their own apartments for the night. Matt had gone home quickly, due to needing to do his ‘nightly rituals’. 

“I simply _must_ kiss all of my mirrors goodnight,” he explained. “It takes a lot of time.” 

Despite how that comment was worthy of snark, Tom and Edd simply wished him farewell, with Tom lingering inside Edd’s apartment. The two were quiet as Edd grabbed a cola from his fridge. 

“It’s not your fault, you know. You couldn’t have known. None of us could,” Tom stated firmly. Edd stared down into his cola, avoiding Tom’s dark gaze. 

”…I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Tom scoffed. 

“Bullshit. I know that look, Edd; you’re blaming yourself for Tord’s mistakes. The fact that he’s in jail has literally _nothing_ to do with us. He did a bunch of illegal things, he got caught, and he’s paying the price for it.” Tom conveniently ignored the fact that Tord had lost an arm and an eye due to his actions. It was due to his own hubris; Icarus flew too close to the sun, he fell hard. 

_'And **you** harpooned him out of the sky,’_ he thought to himself. 

”…I don’t want him to die, Tom,” Edd murmured, tears in his eyes. Tom softened a tad. 

“I know, Edd. But it’s out of our hands.” Tom hesitated for a moment before patting Edd on the shoulder. Edd grabbed Tom into a hug, making Tom stiffen a little in shock. Tom patted Edd a bit awkwardly before breaking out of the embrace. 

“I’m sorry, Edd. Get some sleep, okay?” Edd nodded. 

“I’ll try. The same goes for you,” Edd replied. Tom scoffed. 

“I’ll sleep like a baby. ‘Night, Edd.” 

“Good night, Tom.” With that, Tom exited Edd’s apartment, returning to his own quietly. 

Sleep like a baby? Ha. Tom’s sleep was fitful and in brief bursts, punctuated by old nightmares of being on the other side of his harpoon gun. He awoke at three in the morning, clutching his arm. The same arm Tord no longer had. 

He ran a hand through his hair, taking a swig of Smirnoff in an attempt to help himself sleep. As he finally drifted into a thankfully dreamless sleep, he wondered what Tord had meant when he said amends. He’d likely never know, or so he thought. 

Tom fell asleep clutching his flask and thinking of regret. 

-:-::-:- 

Everything clicked into place the following day, when Tom received a very official looking letter. 

The letter wasn’t especially thick, nor was it very different from average everyday junk mail in terms of appearance. However, there was one very striking difference; the sender was labeled as INTERPOL. Tom’s sockets, previously half lidded as he sleepily checked the mail, shot wide open as all traces of fatigue vanished. Why the fuck would _INTERPOL_ be sending _him_ anything? 

“What the fuck?” 

Tom tore open the letter, praying in vain that it was benign. He used to live with a man who was currently in prison, so this letter could only really be about one thing, right? 

_'Dear Mr. Thompson,’_ the letter read, _'we thank you for your assistance in locating and detaining the criminal Tord Larsen, also known under the alias Red Leader. He has been imprisoned and no longer poses any threat to the world at large. This could not have been accomplished at this time without your helpful information, so enclosed in this letter is the £1.500.000 reward. We at INTERPOL appreciate the assistance of citizens like yourself. Have a lovely day.’_

Stamped at the bottom was the official INTERPOL logo, but Tom didn’t really care about that. He reached inside the envelope, removing a check. 

_'To the order of Thomas Thompson, pay £1.500.000.’_

Tom’s hands were shaking. Why the fuck did INTERPOL think _he’d_ been the one to turn in Tord? Why the hell had they sent him the reward? 

Tom’s mind flashed back to Tord’s letter. “I’ve done what I can to make amends,” he had said. Had Tord turned himself in under Tom’s name? Why in hell would he even _do_ that? 

A small, traitorous part of Tom’s mind gave him the answer: because Tord _actually_ felt as horrible about everything as Edd wanted to believe. 

He tried to dismiss the thought; if Tord felt so shitty about what he had done, he’d have done something sooner. 

But he had, the traitorous thought whispered. He’d given Jon a new life, had tried to apologize, had left everyone alone. 

Tom stared down at the check, barely able to hold it as his hands trembled. Whether Tord had done it for amends or not, whether or not Tord deserved _anything_ approaching forgiveness, there was one thing that was certain: he had to tell Edd and Matt. 

-:-::-:- 

Edd looked up from his book to find Tom slamming open his door. 

“Tom, what’s wrong?” Edd paid little mind to the sharp crack of the door hitting the wall, though both would need to be fixed again. His main concern was whatever had Tom so… _blank._

“I got this in the mail today,” Tom said, dropping the letter into Edd’s hands after approaching. “Read it.” 

Edd did so, eyes widening as he did so. He looked up from the letter, eyes flashing with anger as he stood up and glared at Tom, stepping closer. 

“ _You’re_ the one who put him away? He’s getting the _death penalty_ , Tom! Why would you show me this? Are you _proud_ of what you’ve done?” Edd’s eyes swam with furious tears as he backed Tom into a corner, verbally and physically. 

“Edd, why the _fuck_ would I have been surprised about him being in jail if I put him there?” Tom asked drily. 

“I- I-” Edd stammered, changing tactics. “If you didn’t put him in jail, why did INTERPOL send you a letter saying you did? Answer _that!_ ” 

“Because Tord did this.” 

Edd froze up, his anger melting away into confusion. “He- What?” 

“I got a letter from him a couple of days ago-” Edd froze up even further. “-saying how he’d tried to make amends and was planning on leaving us alone. He mentioned how we’d see 'the fruits of that’, and that it was to rebuild. I think this-” Tom held up the envelope containing the check.“-is what he meant. He somehow turned himself in under my name, though I’m not really sure how or why, so that we could get the reward for his capture.” 

Edd shook with undefined emotion that quickly solidified into heavy guilt. “So _w-we’re_ the reason he’s going to die?” He stammered, tears streaming down his face. 

“…I guess so.” Tom stared at the ground, not wanting to look at Edd’s shaky distress. Tom _vividly_ remembered how things had been when Edd merely thought Tord was dead at their hands, but this was far more direct. 

Edd had been having nightmares until the day Jon came back from the dead, and even afterwards he’d been shaky at the mere _thought_ of what Tord might be doing. Jon had been as obtuse as usual, not saying much about what Tord had been up to for the months that had passed. But that was then. Now, they knew what Tord had been doing, and he was going to die in an attempt to repair the mistakes he’d made. 

Somehow, Tom felt incredibly small, guilt turning his stomach as he refused to look at Edd’s trembling. The guilt wasn’t over Edd, he could tell that much. It was something else. 

It couldn’t be over Tord’s situation, could it? No, that was crazy talk. Tom had thought he’d killed Tord for a couple of weeks, only to find him alive and heavily scarred. He’d had nightmares that night, but that was just because it had surprised him, right? 

No, he couldn’t fool himself like this, not with Edd shaking and Tord on his way to his premature execution. Tom felt like _shit_ for crippling Tord, and Tord had been trying to make amends. He’d turned himself in as a way to apologize, and Tom had immediately dismissed him. 

Whether he liked Tord or not, that had been a dick move. 

Tom let out a heavy sigh. He had an idea to fix things and soothe his own conscience, but it was a shitty, half-baked plan. 

“Hey, Edd?” 

“Y-yeah?” Edd was still trembling with guilt and grief. Tom felt like a colossal ass, but he could wait to dwell on that. 

“I’m gonna fix things. Have everyone meet in your apartment tonight at eight, okay?” Edd looked somewhat confused, but he nodded. 

“Good,” Tom continued. “I’ve got some things to do, I’ll see you tonight.” With that, Tom left, preparing to put his plan into action. This’d take some work, but it’d be worth it to help out Edd and make his conscience shut up. 

-:-::-:- 

Tord’s eyes were hollow, defeated, shadowed. He sat in the corner of his cell, the only light in the room being a small shaft from under the door. His expression was neutral and blank, but that wasn’t exactly a reflection of his true emotions. 

His cell was, regrettably, not soundproof in the slightest. He’d heard every footstep, every bit of mindless chatter, every disparaging remark. He’d heard soldiers shouting with jubilation when Paul and Patryk had been captured. Heard them talking about how they’d be getting the death penalty just the same as their boss. 

Tord had specifically said to carry on without him, but what had they done? Gotten captured trying to rescue him. Him! He’d abandoned them and an entire army of loyal soldiers to fend for themselves, but they’d still thought he was worth rescuing. 

And now they were going to die. Because of him. At least he was being killed first, he wouldn’t have to watch them die for his mistakes. 

Tord stiffened as he heard terrified screams from the soldiers in the compound, loud enough to reach his cell. The screams were cut off by horrible squishy ripping noises and gruesome cracking. A ferocious, guttural roar rang out, making his blood run cold. Whatever happened, he hoped he’d die quickly. 

Loud footsteps, two pairs of them, came stomping down the hall toward Tord’s cell. He assumed it was to evacuate the remaining prisoners; after all, many of them were likely already dead. Tord continued to crouch in the corner of his room, leaning against the cold wall. Whatever was coming for him, he’d let it kill him. More dignity than lethal injection or however it was they’d implement the death penalty. 

The footsteps slowed, and Tord could hear the jingling of keys as they stopped outside his cell. 

“This is his cell, right?” A dopey voice with a South London accent sounded. Tord stiffened. It couldn’t be who he thought it was. It couldn’t. There was no way. 

A different voice scoffed. “Of course it is. I had one job for this, I think I can remember a single cell number. Probably.” 

Was Tord hallucinating? He hadn’t thought that auditory hallucinations were a factor in the noxious cocktail that was his mental health, but he’d been wrong before. Tord purposefully ignored the voices. That was it, he was hallucinating. It couldn’t be them. No way. 

“Uh, which key is for this door, Jon? They’re not numbered.” The voice that couldn’t possibly be Matt sounded almost sheepish. 

“Try them until you get one that fits.” Not-Jon, based on the jingling noises, had taken the keys from Not-Matt, and was trying various keys in the lock to his cell. After a few different tries, Tord heard the lock click. 

“Aha!” The door to his cell swung open, revealing Matt and Jon, both heavily clad in military armor. Tord simply stared. 

“What.” Tord’s voice was rough and cracking from disuse. 

“We’re here to rescue you!” Jon grinned at Tord. 

“…I’m hallucinating.” Why would they rescue him? Why would they send _Jon and Matt_? None of this made any sense to Tord. 

“Not as far as I know,” Matt replied. “Come on! I don’t know how long the others will be able to hold off the military.” 

“Others?” Had people other than Paul and Patryk _actually_ come to rescue him? 

“Edd, Eduardo, and Tom are outside fighting off the army,” Jon said. “We were sent in while they distracted everyone.” 

How the hell would three civilians be able to distract an entire army? Tord didn’t know, and he didn’t really care. His friends cared enough to get him out of prison. That was enough. 

He stood shakily, Jon rushing over to help him to his feet. Matt gasped as Tord’s face and arm were brought into the light. 

“What happened to your face?” Matt was incredibly blatant in his horror. 

“I got blown up,” Tord deadpanned, not looking at Matt. He couldn’t handle the judgment, not even from Matt. 

“So, let’s get you out of here!” Jon exclaimed, steering Tord towards the exit. He shook his head. 

“My right hand men are locked up here somewhere. I can’t let them die here. We need to get them out of here.” Tord was firm; on this, he would not relent. Paul and Patryk had done so much for him over the years. He could not let them die for him, not like this. 

Jon blinked. “What are their names or cell numbers?” Tord was thankful that Jon didn’t even hesitate. Paul and Pat meant a lot to him, though he’d never admit to their faces, and he didn’t want to quibble over whether or not they deserved to be saved. 

“Paul Vorpahl and Patryk Gretzky. They’re in cell block C, I know that much.” Jon pulled out his phone, a map of the prison pulled up on it. 

He pointed to a little dot on the screen. “We’re right here in cell block A, and cell block C is…” He searched the map, pointing to a square on the other side of the map. “Right here.” 

Tord looked at the map. “This is a big prison, it’ll take a long time to get there. Do we have any time constraints?” 

Matt shrugged. “I don’t know how long the others will be able to distract everyone. Getting in here was hard enough, we’ll need to get out pretty quickly.” 

Tord eyed Matt and Jon up and down. “Which of you is faster?” 

The two shrugged. Tord remembered building Jon’s body; even if he wasn’t the faster of the two, he had the stamina to make up for it. One of the perks of being a synthetic person. 

“Jon, you go get Paul and Patryk; meet us outside when you’ve got them, alright?” Despite himself, Tord was still a leader, even when he was at his lowest point. Jon nodded, hurrying off towards cell block C. 

With Jon’s absence, there was a heavy air of awkwardness between Matt and Tord. 

“Let’s go, then,” Matt said, pointing towards the exit. 

“Let’s,” Tord replied. His legs had stabilized, so Tord grabbed Matt’s hand with his flesh one. The two began their hurried escape in utter silence. 

What could Tord even _say_ to this? Matt was clearly uncomfortable, for obvious reasons. The last time they’d seen each other, Tord had punched him in the face and blown up his house. The awkwardness was well justified, and it was still amazing to Tord that Matt had gone along with this rescue plan in the first place. 

“Sorry about your face,” Tord said in an attempt to break the ice. 

“Sorry about yours,” Matt shot back. He stiffened for a moment before continuing his forward motion. “Wait, I didn’t mean-“ 

Tord let out a bitter laugh. “I’m well aware of how I look right now, Matt. No need to beat around the bush.” 

The two went quiet again, passing various guard stations. The way Matt was dragging Tord, it must have looked like he was being relocated. Or taken to his death. Either way, most of the guard stations they passed were empty; where were all of the soldiers? 

Tord thought back to the monstrous growls he’d heard earlier; it was possible the guards were dead. What could have caused such havoc? 

…Was it related to the ‘distraction’ the others had mentioned? Tord hoped so; if not, his rescuers were likely in grave danger. Not that they weren’t already, considering who they were distracting. He’d been keeping himself here by choice, but McCoy’s army was no joke. 

The two left the prison, Tord blinking in the harsh light. The sky was dark, the entire prison yard illuminated by massive floodlights. There were various clusters of soldiers in two places in the yard, with the largest cluster fighting some enemy that Tord couldn’t see. 

As the two sprinted across the prison yard, the thing that the soldiers had been so zealously fighting was revealed. There was only one word to describe how Tord felt at that exact moment. 

Tord was _horrified_. 

The terrifying roar had clearly come from this monstrosity: a vast, bipedal horror made of scales and teeth and fangs. Its entire body was an inky midnight purple, save the two curved lilac horns protruding from its forehead. The one eye, dark and cavernous, narrowed as various soldiers attempted to fight it off with bullets and grenades. 

The beast almost seemed to laugh as the various firearms failed to put a dent in its thick scales. It swatted a dozen soldiers aside with its massive clawed arm, crushing several more with its tail. Another roar of laughter rang out, a burst of white hot fire with it. The monster blinked twice, as if in surprise, before opening its wide maw to blast fire at the unsuspecting soldiers. 

Tord had stopped in place to watch this destructive display, both in awe and fear. While he may not have known who that was, he knew what that was. He’d made the serum that could turn someone into such a terror, and somehow someone had ingested it. 

Matt tugged on Tord’s good arm in an attempt to get him to continue escaping, but Tord was frozen in place. He’d turned someone into a monster, and that was yet another thing he’d need to apologize for once the escape was complete. But on the other hand, it was a sign of success; the serum seemed to be working as intended, which was a source of guilty pride for him. 

"Tord, we need to go! You can talk to Tom later!” Matt yelled. Tord stiffened. That was _Tom_? Hell, no wonder Tom hated him. Wait, if that was Tom, then… 

“Did the three of you know about the lab before you stumbled into it?” Tord asked, staring directly into Matt’s eyes. Matt squirmed. 

“Uh, I think Tom did? Me and Edd sorta knew it was there, but hadn’t gone in there before you came back. Can we talk about this later?” Matt gestured to the monster known as Tom. “There’s kind of more important things going on.” 

Tord spared one last glance at Tom, who was laughing and seemed to be growling out a taunt. It was too garbled to be understood, but it sounded something like 'come at me, fuckers’. Either way, he was doing fine at holding his own. 

Tord finally felt his legs begin moving again. 

He and Matt continued to make their way across the vast prison yard, all of the soldiers distracted by Tom and two small figures in the sky. Tord squinted up at them as he and Matt ran. 

One was clad in dark green, the other in grey and a lighter green. They swooped through the air to avoid bullets and missiles and myriad other weapons, shooting green beams at their attackers. If Tord squinted, he thought he could see brown hair on the two figures. 

Wait. 

Brown hair. Green. If Tom was the monster, then were those… No, it couldn’t be. How was it possible? 

“Eh, Matt? Are those who I think they are?” Tord asked, pointing at the two figures in the sky. Matt glanced up for a moment, nodding. 

"Yeah,” Matt said simply. Tord gaped up at the two figures. How the fuck could they fly? When had _that_ happened? What the actual fuck? 

“… _How_?” 

“Well, Eduardo had a radioactive satellite dish and-“ Tord cut him off. 

"It was rhetorical,” he deadpanned. “How are we getting out of here?” 

Matt paused. “I don’t think we thought that far.” Tord put his face in his metal hand. 

“Oh, for _fuck’s_ -“ Tord’s exasperated swears were cut off by bullets whizzing past their bodies. 

“ _Jævla helvete!_ ” Tord shouted furiously. Tord began the typical zigzag pattern he used to avoid bullet wounds, somehow dragging Matt with him. 

“Did _none_ of you think this through?!” Tord yelled. 

“Excuse me for rescuing you!” Matt replied petulantly. Tord let out an exasperated growl, making Matt flinch. Guilt flooded him, but it wasn’t the time to apologize. It was the time to act. 

Tord scanned the yard as he ran, looking for a weak point he could exploit. He spotted a couple, but they were meant for one person who was better prepared than he. 

“Hey, guys!” Tord felt a bizarre mix of relief and horror upon hearing Jon’s voice. He spared a glance back to where he’d heard Jon’s voice come from, seeing Jon and his two marshals. Paul and Patryk were out of their cells, but it’d take some doing before they were safe. 

"Does anyone have any _weapons_?” Tord cried. Jon nodded. 

“I have a couple of guns in my armor, would that help?” 

“Yes, it fucking would! Give them to Paul and Patryk. Soldiers, maneuver 36!” Jon handed the guns to Paul and Patryk, who began firing in precise patterns. Much as the two weren’t the greatest at flying planes, they were marshals for a reason. 

Tord felt a flicker of something akin to pride as the two skillfully took out the arms and legs of their assailants, giving Tord and Matt a chance to breathe. 

Matt yanked his hand away from Tord’s, rubbing his wrist. 

“That hurt! For someone so small, you’ve got a tight grip.” Tord gritted his teeth, barely holding himself back from snapping at Matt. It wasn’t the time to get angry. There were more important things at hand. 

Tord cried out as pain erupted from his abdomen, his hands going to clutch his stomach. He fell to his knees, finding blood on his hands. 

He looked up to find General McCoy holding a smoking pistol. His carefully coiffed blond hair was disheveled, a large claw mark on his arm oozing blood. 

“That’s what you get for trying to escape, Larsen,” he said cruelly. 

“What the… _fuck_ … is your problem?” Tord wheezed. McCoy scoffed. 

“You are a degenerate criminal. You’ve conquered nations for your own selfish purposes, killed men who were trying to uphold justice, and have generally been a _pain in my ass_ for eight _long_ years. You can’t even _imagine_ how good it feels to see you like this. Or can you, Larsen? After all, you’re a torturer as well as a mur-” McCoy’s rant about Tord’s various evils was cut off as a searing hot laser hit him in the stomach, approximately the same place he’d shot Tord. 

“You talk too much,” a Brooklyn accented voice muttered darkly. Tord could see dark green out of the corner of his eye; it seemed Eduardo had landed. 

McCoy had seemingly been knocked unconscious by the force of the blast, lying on the cold ground with smoke rising off of the hole in his uniform. Tord couldn’t quite see it from here, but it looked like he had burns. Unsurprising; he had felt the heat from the blast as it passed him. If McCoy had anything less than second degree burns, he was incredibly lucky. 

The world seemed to tilt as Tord toppled onto the ground, blood continuing to pour from his bullet wound. 

He heard a terrified voice call out his name; a voice he hadn’t heard in months. The source of the voice landed in front of him, and Tord could see his green eyes glimmering with tears. 

“Tord!” Edd cried out again. Tord’s vision was blurring, but he could clearly see the panicked tears in Edd’s eyes spilling down his cheeks. His vision blurred even further as tears flooded out of his own. “Stay awake!” 

"H-hello, old friend,” he said, smiling at Edd as tears streamed down his face. That was the last thing Tord had a chance to do before he blacked out. 


	3. This isn't a chapter this thing isn't cancelled it's just an announcement

I am so so so so sorry that chapter 3 isn't out yet but it's definitely going to happen! I'm not cancelling this, I've got the beginning of chapter 3 written and just begging to be continued. I hope to have it finished and posted by January due to the upcoming break for the winter holidays. School and writers block have been kicking my ass, but I don't plan to leave you guys hanging. This will be completed, I promise. Feel free to remind me to write by messaging or sending asks to my blog [here.](http://deathofamemer.tumblr.com) I love you guys, thanks for the support.


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